Changing Conditions
by outtabreath
Summary: Post-Drought Conditions. Josh and Donna have a little talk.


**Author's Note**: Thanks to witchofnovember for being my beta and for ordering me to post this. Without her, this fic would still be sitting on my hard drive.

**A/N2**: This is my first Josh/Donna fic. Reviews and opinions gratefully accepted.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Josh or Donna; however, if John Wells doesn't smarten up, the Million Shipper March is going to go to CA and kidnap them.

**Changing Conditions by outtabreath**

It was 1:02 AM even when the pounding began. Donna tried to ignore it – tried to pretend she wasn't hearing it. It didn't stop.

Grumbling and cursing more than was strictly necessary, she flung open the door to find exactly whom she expected.

"It's one AM."

"You were sleeping?"

"Go figure. The first night in my own home in…" she paused as she tried to remember when she had last been home, "A long, long time, and I want to sleep. Whata you know? Donna Moss and her eccentricities."

"Are you going to invite me in?"

"No."

"Dooonnnaa," he was whining. "Your neighbors won't be happy if I stand out here banging on your door all night."

"Or you could go to your own home, Josh. What would that be like?"

"Weird... I want to talk to you."

"Call me tomorrow."

"No. I want to talk _now_."

She glared at him and he stared back, all dimpling and melty-eyes. "How'd you get up here, anyway?" she questioned, realizing he should have been ringing her doorbell, not knocking on her door.

He dangled keys in front of her eyes, "You never asked for them back."

She lunged for them half-heartedly and he yanked them away from her. "Not unless you give me back mine."

"I don't know where they are," she lied; they were on her keychain, always had been.

"Liar," he smirked.

"You aren't going to leave, are you?"

"Nope."

"And you'll just come in with the keys if I close the door."

"No!" he had the grace to look abashed. "Donna, I didn't want to scare you or anything and I would never just come into your house without permission – especially if you had just asked me to leave. Besides, you should have a deadbolt or something on this door. This isn't a safe neighborhood."

She caved immediately. Any little sign of protectiveness by Josh always did her in. She stepped back, cursing herself even so, and gestured. He smiled and sailed into the apartment – absolutely _sailed,_ he was so proud of himself. Donna closed the door behind him and stated, "I really just want to go to bed, Josh."

His eyes got huge and he smirked, his voice low and breathy, "Well, Donna. Even after the closet, I never expected _that_." He bounced up on the balls of his feet, "But, if that's what _you_ want."

"Stop now. You know what I meant."

"Donna, I did not. You dragged me into a closet not twelve hours ago. What's a man to think?"

She shook her head and began to walk away from him. "Sit, I need to go get something."

"Your Catholic school uniform?" he shouted behind her.

She battened down the sudden surge of affection and annoyance that always heralded Josh; then she tamped down the urge to riffle through her closet to see if she had anything to approximate a school uniform. She told herself that it would be worth it just to see him stroke out in her living room. She almost believed herself.

"I'm Protestant, as you full well know," she shouted, filling two glasses with water.

"A man can dream."

So can a woman, and that had always been the problem. She shuffled back into the living room, suddenly disappointed in herself that she was enjoying this as much as she was. She had missed bantering with Josh, had missed the easy teasing of their relationship – had missed Josh, and she was disgustingly happy to see him.

He was sitting on the couch and she was surprised. "You did what I told you to do."

"I usually do."

"You almost never did," she corrected, handing him a glass.

He frowned as he perused it, "What's this?"

"Water."

He made a face and set it down on the coffee table.

"Drink it, Josh."

"I'm not thirsty," he paused and looked at her. "I'm not drunk either."

"I'm aware of that." There was an awkward pause and Donna suddenly felt very much like she had in an elevator in Iowa; silence was just not her and Josh's normal state and she was tired of it and tired of missing him and being sad and angry. She opened her mouth, but Josh beat her to it.

"You looked beautiful tonight."

She blinked; as far as opening salvos went, that was unexpected. "What?"

"At the thing. You looked great," he blinked and took a deep breath. "Beautiful. You looked beautiful."

"Thank you." She was amazed that she could even get that out.

"I gotta walk," he said, jumping up and starting to pace

She watched him, bemused, waiting for him to talk.

"Toby and I had a fight. Did you hear that?"

She nodded.

"Why didn't you come to check on me?"

And, just like that, the bemusement dwindled into anger. No matter what, he always thought she was in charge of making sure he was okay and that his life was running smoothly.

"Why would I?" she shot back, sounding very brittle.

He stumbled to a stop and met her eyes. She refused to look away from him even though he looked like she had just slapped him. His eyes were big and broken. She wanted to apologize, but she wouldn't – let him sit with the pain. It would do him good.

"Okay," he said slowly, "guess that was fair. Guess I deserved that."

"It wasn't about being fair or what you deserved, Josh. It's the truth. I'm not your assistant anymore. I'm not in charge of taking care of you and checking on you. That's _your_ job now."

He was blinking stupidly at her, trying to figure out what to say to calm her down. She could see the wheels turning in his head – knew that she had become just another opponent to bend to his will. She suddenly wanted to start yelling at him – to have him yell at her. They had never fought much; maybe that's what would finally help. She opened her mouth, ready to start the battle.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. She snapped her mouth shut and stared at him in mute amazement. She could never recall him actually apologizing to her.

"I'm sorry," he continued, "for making you think that I thought of you as only an assistant and that I sent you on the CODEL and that I let you think I never listened to you or understood why you took care of me the way you did or that I wouldn't understand why you needed to leave. I'm sorry that I held you back and interfered with your life and your gomers and for being mean. Donna." He started pacing again, running his fingers through his hair, "I'm sorry I was an idiot and was angry that you left me and that I didn't call you and didn't talk to you in the elevator. I was going to knock on your door in Iowa but I didn't know what to say." "

"No," he sighed, stopping to look at her, "that's not true. I knew what to say, I was just too afraid to say it."

She caught his eyes, gave him permission to say it.

"You belong with me," he said.

Oh. That. She wanted to roll her eyes and tell him that he was still afraid, instead, she said, "You've _already_ told me that. You think I'm with the wrong campaign."

"That, too." He was meeting her gaze squarely and she felt the familiar jolt of connection. It wasn't the first time she'd felt it, not even the 1001st, but it was the first time neither of them looked away – neither of them broke it. He was staring at her levelly, his face open, his eyes bright. He wasn't suppressing or hiding any of his feelings and it was making her dizzy. Suddenly, she wondered if the glass of champagne she'd had at the gala had finally hit her system.

"Donna…" he took a step towards the couch.

"Why'd you take on Santos?" she interrupted. Just because she wanted this – had wanted this for as long as she could remember – didn't mean that it didn't terrify the hell out of her.

He blinked, breaking the connection – ending the moment. "He's the real thing. Do you think Bingo Bob is the real thing? Do you think he'll be a good president?"

"Truthfully?"

"I'd hope so."

"No, but he has the best chance to actually become President."

"That's not enough for me, Donna... I never thought it would be enough for you."

Well, there went the slap in her face.

"It's enough to be appreciated and work on something that can be successful."

He grinned, the lost Josh gone – Ego Josh was back in full force, "I'll be successful."

"Maybe."

"Not maybe. For sure. We're going to win, Donna. I want you to be a part of that."

"As your assistant," she finished flatly.

"Not even close. I wouldn't hire you back as my assistant, I don't need one anymore. I'm doing fine on my own."

"Sure you are," she retorted, not sure if she wanted to be playful or not – but going there nonetheless, "That's why I had to show you the information about Rafferty."

"In the closet," he grinned. "You and me in a closet, Donna."

"It was private."

"This is private," he pointed out, sweeping his arm out to encompass her apartment, "What're you going to show me here?"

"You came here," she pointed out. Her heart was starting to race. It wasn't time yet.

"I did," he nodded. "I came across town to your apartment and flew across an ocean to Germany and I couldn't walk across a hotel corridor to talk to you. I am an idiot."

"Josh," she said warningly.

He blinked. "Not the right time?"

"Not yet."

He laughed, a short, bitter sound, "funny. That's funny. Not yet. Eight years and still not yet."

She stood, legs shaking – wanting to run away and forget, wanting to lose herself in him. She hugged him instead and he buried his face in her shoulder and sighed; she could feel the tension flow out of him at her touch. "I know I belong with you," she whispered.

"That works both ways," he whispered back.

"Good."

He released her and headed to the door, pausing on the threshold. "It'll be soon you know."

"I know."

He smiled, "Good night Donna. See you on the trail."

"I'll be there."


End file.
